


harbors of hatred

by freedomatsea



Series: Historical Pieces [4]
Category: Frontier (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, But it is meant to be consent, Cause Yikes does Jonathan have a jealous streak, Don't look for fluff or joy here, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, F/M, Hate Sex, Hate to More Hate, I suppose one might consider this, Jealousy, Longing, Mentions of Violence, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oh also, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9542003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedomatsea/pseuds/freedomatsea
Summary: Captain Chesterfield seeks Grace out at the Alehouse after the false attack on the fort. Set Post-Gallows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Right, first and foremost.... Why are more people not watching this jem of a show? I mean, sure it just came out but... Usually there's more excitement? I blame it on politics, which this was a retreat from. I'm also, fairly certain, I wasn't supposed to love Chesterfield or ship him with Grace, but here I am voyaging upon a doomed ship and I regret nothing. I mean, it was quite clear that Chesterfield had some serious lusting going on for Grace, so here's a hypothetical situation where they get to fuck out some of that hate and longing. I hope I do them justice.

The anger was boiling in his veins. He could feel it turning his blood to fire beneath his skin, his heart hammering away in his chest, and his God damned pulse was nearly sickening as it echoed in his ears.

He was going to fucking kill her. Slit her up one side and down the other. And get every single time he thought of her  _dead_ he could hear her voice telling him to calm down. He was too quick to anger. To quick to murder.

Somehow she had tamed him. It was all a game to her wasn't it? He'd misunderstood a partnership… He'd misunderstood her  _u_ _sing_ him to gain the upper hand. He'd been a blithering fool. Tripping over his own plans because of her.

The Alehouse was empty. But she was there. Of course she was. The whole Fort was crumbling into chaos because of a false _attack_ but Grace was right there. In her establishment, unafraid because she fucking knew.

“I should kill you.”

“Then why haven't you?” She spat, rising from the table where she sat so calmly. He envied her. She could be so calm and yet sometimes he swore the devil himself made the beast in him burn. “Don't think I've forgotten that threat of yours. Whatever partnership this was, Jonathan, it's over.”

There was a sweeping rush of loss and then the anger was back flashing his eyes as he moved to lunge, but he stopped himself. “Fuck.” He could hear her telling him to calm down, but she wasn't saying it. She'd taught him. Perhaps for this very sort of moment. “You should have told me.”

“Told you what?” She countered, moving back around the table and grabbing her tankard of ale.

“Declan.” He gritted out, fists balling at his sides. “You'll be glad to know he lives. Bastard vanished after I tried to blow his brains out.”

“He means nothing to me. We've been through this-”

“The lying stops here Grace. Benton is near death. I _will_ be governor. If you wish to remain uninterrupted it would be wise if you tell me the truth.”

“And what truth is it you seek?” Grace scoffed. “Sounds like you're borrowing from Benton’s book for governing here. And it's piss poor.” God above that bite in her words did things to him that he ought to have been ashamed of.

“You could have lied to me about _who._ You could have said there was someone else. Anyone else.” He hated how desperate that sounded. How pathetic he was when he came to her. Why did Grace hold such power over him? When she clearly would leave him to rot on the side of the road.

“Oh, I could see how well that would've gone Jonathan. You'd have been the same prick you were when I scoffed at your fanciful plans for featherbeds and brats.” Grace narrowed her eyes at her. “You're a ruthless man. I wouldn't trust you with the knowledge that my heart belonged to another. Lest you gut every man out there I might've smiled at once.”

“Then you're heart _does_ belong to another? To _him_ ?” He turned his back to her then, blowing out a ragged breath as he raked his hand over his face. “I could've given you more than you could've ever imagined. You would have been treated like a _queen_.”

“You misunderstood our partnership. It was nothing more than that. I can't help that you misunderstood…”

“At the very least I thought you cared. I thought the emotions could come later. I thought you wanted all of this. Me. As governor.” He quickly whirled back around to face her, fixing his gaze on her. “Why? My temper? I would never…”

“You already have.” Grace reminded him and he grimaced. “I don't _need_ a husband.”

“His temper could rival mine.” The world felt upside down. “He has murdered with his bare hands, as equally as I have. The same with a gun. He and I are not dissimilar. But I can give you more.”

Grace’s expression betrayed herself and after a long moment of silence, she caved. “It's not that. None of that matters. We’re all monsters here. The wild will do that to you. Declan…” She shook her head, pouring a second glass of brandy, nodding did him to sit across from her.

He should have arrested her. Taken her in for her acts of treason and yet he didn't want to see even a hair harmed on her head. Jonathan sat and greedily drank half the tankard in one swig. It had been a long night.

“You're not gonna like this I'm afraid.” Grace warned him and plied him with make brandy. Because he was a fool and she knew it. “You must promise me that you'll stay calm.”

“Do our promises mean anything anymore?” He questioned, catching himself staring at her lips.

“I don't know.” She admitted and blew out a shaky breath. “Declan has been through a lot. I've known him for many years. In a certain way you and I are alike. What I feel towards him isn't quite returned. When I look at you I see a man complacent in the pain he's suffered. His wife and son were tortured and now he has been tortured and he very well may still die.” Grace downed her brandy and poured a second.

Jonathan grimaced. “He's a bad man Grace. But his wife and child shouldn't have been casualties. If I do become Governor I would never allow such…” A thought crossed his mind. One that would probably make her loath him all the more. “Marry me Grace.”

“Jonathan…”

“It'll truly be all for show. The Governor’s Wife. A farce. A part to impress. You can have your Declan. I'll even pardon him.” He would. He'd do it. But she was skeptical. And he _did_ want more.

“Who are you fooling?” Grace tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Why are you this way? Why must you always be on top?”

“Because when you've reached rock bottom once you refuse to hit it again.” He snapped, snatching the brandy bottle and pouring himself more. “And don't think my interests in you were simply because of our little partnership. I noticed your beauty when you came aboard that night. In the cabin. I tried to get you out of my head.”

“Oh?” Grace took the bottle back and drank straight from it. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

Jonathan finished off the rest of his brandy and held out his hand for the bottle. Their fingers brushed as he took the bottle. His eyes flickering over her face. A different sort of heat burned in his veins. Her lashes fluttered in a very girlish fashion. Eyes quickly averted and her cheeks flushed in the dull flickering light of the room. “Tell me you never felt anything.”

“I-...” She looked away. “You get away with being such a prick because you’re handsome.” Grace narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps if you weren’t such a monster of a man…”

“I can change Grace. I'm going to be Governor. I've already changed on account of you.”

“You've changed on account of me? Good God, Jonathan. Well if you’ve changed, I would hate to see what you’d have done the other night.” She trailed her gaze towards the wall where he'd pinned her, gripped at her throat.

“I feel shame for that. I feel remorse.” His words were a little slurred, the brandy setting in.

“Then apologize.” Grace ordered softly. Her lashes fluttered again and she cast her gaze downward.

“I'm sorry Grace.” It was an honest apology, but he didn't get the results he expected. Her softened features hardened and she rose to her feet, her chair groaning against the floor as she pushed it back. “I don't understand.”

“You should go. It's late. And a future governor such as yourself needs his beauty rest.”

“I will go when I wish to.” He retorted. “And I need more brandy.”

“You're drunk.” Grace couldn't help but laugh a little at that, shaking her head.

“And so are you.” He countered and he moved to get up. That's when the brandy fully it him. He _was_ drunk. “I have a question for you.”

“Oh God, I can only imagine what sort of nonsense you're about to spout.” She crossed her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes.

“The day after our little _scuffle_ I was jumped by Malcolm. Know anything about that?” He had assumed she had something to do with it. Given the fact that he'd been in her establishment.

“I don't know what you mean.” Grace’s brows knit together. “You look fine. Must've not been that bad.”

Jonathan laughed harshly. “But by the pure luck of God I got the upperhand. You should've seen that bastard. Nearly killed him.”

“And you're proud of that?” Grace tilted her head and stepped towards him, her eyes flickering over his face.

His gaze dropped to her lips, that hunger burning in his chest. He wanted her. God he was a fool. “As proud as any man would be.”

“I told him.” Grace informed him, scarcely louder than a whisper. “I was furious with you. How dare you treat me like that.”

“And you're proud of that aren't you?” He questioned, throwing her words back at her. “I could've been killed.”

“I wanted you dead.” She hissed out. “I would've done it myself, but Malcolm was raring to kill.”

“I thought I could trust you Grace. I trusted you blindly.”

“I was using you Jonathan.” Grace said quietly, lifting her hand then and he flinched away, expecting her to slap him, but her touch was soft against his cheek. “You were nothing more than a wrung in the ladder.”

“I don't know how I didn't see it.” Despite himself he leaned into her touch, eyes falling closed. He shouldn't have trusted a kind touch. She'd slit his throat if given the chance, he knew now. But he couldn't just rid himself of those damned feelings she aroused in him.

“I thought you were _using_ me too. I thought this partnership… I thought it was... I don't know.” Grace whispered and her breath danced over his lips. She was still playing him, wasn’t she? That was all she knew how to do.

His eyes snapped open and he took a stumbling step backwards and held up his hands. “ _No_. Leave these machinations for someone else, Grace. I won’t have you leading me along anymore.” He refused to let her play him again. And yet, as she stepped closer and pressed herself against him in a way she’d only ever done in his dreams, he was certain he’d let her use him again and again.

“What’ll _Declan_ think of this.” He hissed out, his fingers curling around the back of her head, keeping space between their lips, even as he desired nothing more than to crush his against hers. To taste the brandy on her lips, rather than just smell it on her breath.

“I already told you. Declan and I… we’ll never be anything more than an unrequited wish in the night.”

“Do you always throw yourself at men you hate?” He questioned, licking his lips as he studied hers. “Because this is quite the opposite of swearing you’d rather take to Malcolm Brown than me.”

Grace shoved pressed her palms against his chest, shoving him backwards until she had him pressed against the wall and her surprisingly strong fingers curled around his throat. “There’s no one I hate more than you, Jonathan.” She smirked, her eyes twinkling in that mischievous way he’d come to yearn for. “For a man who puffs himself up and parades around the fort like he thinks he’s the goddamn King of England, you sure seem to enjoy this.”

Jonathan inhaled sharply when the hand not curled around his throat dropped below his waist and grasped him through his trousers. “ _Fuck_.” He bit out, rocking his hips involuntarily into her touch. “I didn’t know you had this in you Grace. Are you just going to close your eyes and wish it were Dec-.”

Grace kissed him. Her lips, against his, with a desperate burning edge to it that took the breath right out of his lungs. And her hand was still pressed against his cock, stroking along its length through his pants and it was a certain sort of torture that he craved.

She wasn’t _wrong_. He enjoyed being in power, to have the last say, the last action, the dominance in any situation. But right then. With Grace holding all the power. It was more arousing than he’d ever care to verbally admit. He couldn’t do much with his body’s response. That gave away everything.

He slanted his lips against hers, kissing her with the same sort of need, rocking his hips in time with the slow drag of her hand, yearning for skin-to-skin contact instead of the feel of coarse fabric dragging over throbbing flesh.

Jonathan dragged his teeth over her bottom lip, marveling at her sharp intake of breath and the way she retaliated by doing the same. Her grip on his throat tightened a little, making blood rush to his head, lips breaking from hers as he tried to drag in a ragged breath. “ _Grace_.” He hissed out, gasping as she released his throat.

“This changes nothing. I still despise you Chesterfield.” She warned him, both of her hands hastily working to get his trousers undone.

“Glad to hear it. Because as much as I want to fuck you, I still want to gut you too.” He remarked, his fingers curling around the back of her neck as he dragged her in for another kiss, his tongue seeking entrance into her mouth, exploring every inch it could reach.

Her fingers curled around his cock and he swore he saw stars behind his eyes as he clenched them closed. It was far better than anything he’d ever imagined. Better than anything his hand could ever stroke out.

He released his hold on the back of her neck, shoving at the heavy coat she wore, pushing it off her shoulders even though it meant losing contact. And then he set to work on the buttons of her vest and he didn’t stop until he’d loosened it and tugged her blouse down enough to free her breasts.

“Fucking gorgeous.” He muttered. Even if this ended with a blade between his ribs, at least he’d have died happy. Right? Drunk and happy and one step closer to have Grace Emberly’s cunt wrapped around his cock.

Jonathan lifted her hand to cup her breast, brushing his thumb over her nipple. Her lashes fluttered, inhaling sharply.

“Enjoy this while you have it.” Grace said hotly. “This is the only time you’re ever getting this.”

“And I shall cherish every second of it.” He informed her with a wicked grin, before he lowered his mouth to her breast, swirling his tongue around the pebbled peak. And _God_ , the sounds she made were enough to make his cock ache impossibly.

Grace reached down to take him in hand like she _knew_ he was aching for contact. Her fingers curling around his cock, dragging her fingers along his length.

He turned his attention to her other breast, scraping his teeth gently over her nipple. Jonathan dropped his hand down to work at the laces of her trousers, working his hand beneath her undergarments, desperate to tease her the way she was tormenting him.

Jonathan pulled his head away from her breasts, leaning back to meet her eyes. They were half-lidded and hazy with lust, the same as his were he was certain. Her lips were swollen and full from his ministrations. She looked positively like an image of sin.

He urged her backwards, pushing off against the wall for leverage. “On your desk.” He ordered, guiding her backwards until he could lift her up onto the edge. Their foreheads bumped together and their breaths danced as their lips brushed. He wrenched her trousers and underthings down her hips, working  to get each boot off and the fabric discarded on the floor. His fingers wedged between her thighs, fingers brushing over her cunt, pleased to discover just how much she wanted this too.

“For someone who claims to hate me so viscerally you’re as slick as a fucking _whore_ , Grace.”

Grace grabbed him by the jaw, her nails biting into his jaw, dragging him in for another kiss in a clear attempt to silence him. And it worked. Of course it worked. She knew exactly how to shut him up now.

Jonathan used his hips to nudge her thighs apart wider, his hands skimming over her legs, savoring every inch of skin he had the _privilege_ of touching. If he only got to do this once, he was going to make the most of it.

Her fingers worked to loosen the cravat around his throat, hastily unfastened buttons, and shoving his coat to the floor. The flash of red made him think of that anger that had been brimming in his veins when he’d first walked through the door. He could never stay mad at her for very long. She was too damn good at calming the beast within him. No wonder she fancied Declan. She’d yet to calm the monster that he was.

Jealousy pierced him. Right through the ribs. Fueling a sudden resurgence of anger in his blood. He wanted to hurt Grace like she’d hurt him, to make her feel the pain he carried now because she’d slighted him. But all the same he wanted her to feel how good he could make her feel. To know that if she ever wanted this, him, even just the carnal urges of the flesh, she could come to him. It was pride that desired her to yearn for him after this.

Jonathan reached down between them to grasp his cock, fisting a tangled mess of her copper hair, tugging just hard enough to make her wince as he lined himself up to thrust into her. His lips descended upon her throat, sucking at her pulse point as he _slammed_ into her, bottoming out in the first thrust before he was dragging out of her and repeating the action. She cried out from him. Fingers scrambling to seek purchase in his half-bared shoulders. He’d have crescent-moon shaped cuts and bruises tomorrow and he didn’t give a damn.

Grace rocked into his thrusts, meeting him move-for-move as they moved together. She was teetering on the edge of her desk and it was the perfect angle for him to slam into her again and again. He wanted this to last forever. He never wanted to pull out of her wet heat a final time, but he was too keyed up. He slipped his hand down between their bodies, his fingers seeking out that little bundle of nerves he knew would make her howl for him.

“ _Jonathan_.” She hissed out, the word coming out breathless and strained. One hand slipped away from his shoulders to grip at the edge of the desk as he stroked her flesh, angling himself just right. He was fighting it with everything he had in him. Trying to hold on until he had her falling over the edge.

“Come on Grace.” He urged, his lips dragging over hers. “Let go. Come on.”

“I hate you.” Grace’s words bit into him, with more pain inflicted than her nails which had drawn blood at his shoulders. “I hate you with everything I am. I will never be yours Jonathan Chesterfield.”

And with that final callous remark she cried out his name with pure abandon, louder than she should have, but the fort was in chaos and no one would care about a woman screaming in the throes of passion.

Jonathan’s own cries joined hers as he slammed into her harshly one last time, his release spilling into her clenching cunt. There was no savoring the moment. No coming down from that blissful high. She was shoving him off of her. Palms spread out against his chest and a foot pressed into his upper thigh.

He took the hint. He dressed in the deafening silence. Made certain he’d found the buttons she’d wrenched off of his shirt to mend and dusted off his red coat, lest anyone wonder why he looked like he’d rolled around on the floor. Not that anyone would care. No one cared about him. Least of all Grace.

Grace was nearly dressed by the time he had himself back in order. He could feel the burn of her gaze every time he looked away, but every time he looked at her she turned her attention elsewhere. As if he thought this hatred would change because they’d fucked. It had changed nothing, except now he was sober and the ache in his chest seemed like a gaping hole now.

“The offer from before still stands,” He said, shuffling somewhat awkwardly towards the door.

“And which one’s that?” Grace questioned, shooting him a scathing look as she fixed her mussed hair.

“If I become Governor…” He trailed off, noting the way her expression seemed to soften for a mere flash before hardening again. “I’ll pardon him.”

“So long as I become your wife?” She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re fooling yourself if you think I’ll suddenly find myself _fancying_ you Chesterfield.” Grace remarked, sinking back into her chair. “Besides, I don’t think Declan _wants_ to be pardoned.”

He blinked and nodded, staring at his feet. “Right.” There went that leveraging. “Of course not. Why would a man like him wish for anything but a deadly existence.” He turned his back to her, lingering in the doorway. “I’ll have my men bring back the French brandy you had taken from you. I’d already made sure they didn’t crack into it.”

“You did?”

Jonathan couldn’t bring himself to look back at her. There was a sound of _delight_ in her voice and it made his heart clench in a wholly unwelcome way. He didn’t want to see the hatred that he knew was in her eyes. “I did. It was when I believed there was something to this failed partnership of ours.”

“ _Oh_.” There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again. “Come back in two days. When the dust has settled. We can reassess this partnership.”

“I’ll see you then Miss Emberly.” Jonathan said before he excused himself from her office and from the Alehouse without looking back. He knew that their partnership was nothing more than a partnership. That this would only keep wedging the blade deeper into his chest. But the anger in his veins enjoyed the pain Grace Emberly brought him.


End file.
